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“Maxim. Please.” She tugs my hair, trying to shift me from between her thighs.
I grab her hands and hold them fast against her. “Oh, no.” I blow gently on her clitoris and follow with my tongue, provoking the greedy, swollen little bud between her thighs. She garbles my name in a cry, and it’s a gratifying, cock-hardening sound. It’s such a heady thrill to tease and tantalize my passionate wife. I stop because I think she’s close and trail wet kisses over her plucked labia along the edge of her soft, warm belly.
“Please. Maxim.” It’s a desperate cry.
I nip her hip bone, kiss the sweet well of her navel, and then skim my lips up her body, to her peaked breasts, where her nipples are hard and ready, begging for me.
“Oh, Alessia,” I whisper in awe as I take each in turn, sucking and tugging until they’re straining for the ceiling, and she’s squirming beneath me, her hips moving in a reckless counterpoint. I rear up over her, and her dazed eyes meet mine, full of longing and love. I release one of her hands and slowly sink two fingers inside her.
Ah! She’s so wet and ready for me.
“Baby,” I murmur as she hungrily tilts her pelvis to meet my fingers. She’s so close. I jerk my fingers free and quickly flip her over onto her stomach. Grabbing her hips, in one swift move, I tug her onto my straining cock.
“Ah!” she cries and pushes back against me, wanting and taking all of me.
Oh, my thirsty girl.
Doing her duty.
I lose myself, over and over in my wife, and time and space are suspended. It’s just us. Now. In this moment of love. She lets free another garbled cry and stiffens beneath me as she peaks. Her body pulsing around me as she rides out her orgasm. I don’t stop. I want it all. Onward. Rocking into her. Pulling her back against me. Driving onward and onward until I can’t hold on anymore.
I come. Loudly. Calling out her name and collapsing on top of her.
Engulfing her with my body.
Holding her fast as we both return to the present.
Duty done.
I’m slippery and sticky from our combined sweat. Yes. I’m also bone tired.
Fuck, that was good.
I kiss her cheek as she pants beneath me.
“Wow…” I whisper in her ear.
Her lips lift in a tired grin. “Yes. Wow.”
“Duty done, baby.” I ease out of her, enjoying the slip and slide of it all. Her back. Her arse. Her sex.
Yeah.
Wow.
Alessia blows out a breath and gives me a sleepy smile. “You have also fulfilled your duty.”
I nuzzle her ear. “I’m glad to hear it. And I got to beat you at Call of Duty. I’d call that a good day.”
“Tomorrow, I will practice. Then we shall see.”
I laugh. “God, I love you.” And in the light of the little dragon, she closes her eyes with a most satisfied smile on her face, and it makes me feel that I have some worth, after all.
Chapter Seventeen
Alessia’s fingers rest on the keys, the last of Bach’s fugue ringing through the room—the bold blues dissipating as the notes fade. If—and it’s a big if—she gets an interview at one of the music colleges in London, she’ll have to audition. She’s been playing through her repertoire for the last two days and trying to decide what would be appropriate. Maxim thinks the Beethoven Moonlight Sonata third movement would crush it. She smiles, recalling how bright-eyed and sincere he looked as he uttered those words.
Alessia wants to crush it.
Completely.
The thought of studying in London is one she’d never contemplated before. She’s excited, and her parents are thrilled, but she doesn’t want to fail; she wants Maxim to be proud of her. Next week she’ll start the etiquette course that Caroline recommended. It confounds Alessia that Caroline, who’s so poised and elegant, had to attend such a course. She always imagined that her gentility was innate. Alessia hopes she’ll learn such propriety too, enabling her to move seamlessly in the circles that Maxim inhabits.
Her smile fades.
She wishes she knew what she could do to help her husband. Maxim is still distracted and frustrated by his mother not returning his calls. He’s reassured her that it’s nothing for her to worry about, but she does. Alessia loves him and wants to help. She finds his relationship with his mother unfathomable. She’s sure Maxim loves his mother, but does he like her? She thinks not. And her instinct is that Rowena feels the same antipathy toward Maxim.
Why?
Perhaps his mother will speak to him today and put him out of his misery.
Alessia checks her phone to see if Maxim has texted her—there’s nothing, but an email from Paul Maddox appears in her inbox. Her scalp tingles, and butterflies flutter in her stomach.
He has information about her grandmother’s family.
